


Scarlet Winter's Shadow

by taichara



Series: Blood and Fire [6]
Category: Saint Seiya
Genre: Alternate Universe, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:14:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2611400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some few years before the War, the Holy Father, less than pleased with Camus at the moment, sends his left-hand killer to deliver that message.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scarlet Winter's Shadow

As early evening crept towards dusk, the shadowed pillared cavern of the great atrium that lay nestled in the Holy Father's palace sang softly with the measured, rhythmic tapping of one strong hand against a starry golden arm.

Once, twice and again the regal figure rose from the gleaming throne, pacing a few measured steps, midnight robes mirrored by the cascading fall of night-dark ringlets, then seated himself again and drummed his fingers briefly against the arm of his golden perch. Once or twice, he paused in this small sign of anger to sip dark wine from an offered chalice, or to cast a blood-hazed gaze the length of the great pillared hall.

The Holy Father did not like to be kept waiting, as if some cast-off servant, no; and least of all by some feeble creature playing at his golden rank.

As dusk deepened he stood again, onyx velvets and midnight hair swirling around him.

"Milo." 

Before the word had fully escaped his lips the Saint of Scorpions had flowed silently to his feet and knelt, waiting, a silent statue of dark curls and shadowy linen and leather. 

"I have waited for the Aquarius Saint for well onto an hour, Milo.  
"I have had enough of his indifference.  
"See to it."

Milo lifted his head, night-blue eyes meeting bloody amethyst; and he inclined his head in acceptance of his task, his voice a quiet hiss. 

"He shall know your displeasure, my Lord.  
"Do I return with him?"

The Holy Father considered the notion for a moment, dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

"Not this time.  
"Only bring proof to me that he has seen what his arrogance shall cost him."

Milo nodded, once, silently, and climbed to his feet; and then he was gone, leaving the great chamber at a predator's pace as the night fell.

The Holy Father took to his great throne in a whisper of velvet and darkness, and picked up his chalice again to wait, brooding, for his pet to return to him.

-*-

Night was fast-approaching now, and the moon's cold light fell on the House of Aquarius as Milo stalked towards it. From the outside, the pale marble temple appeared to be abandoned, lifeless. But Milo could feel -- could _taste_ \-- the Water-Bearer's icy power, down deep within the chambers hidden behind and beneath the pillared temple proper.

For a moment he considered announcing his arrival; then he shrugged away the notion with a muttered growl and a twisted little smile.

If Camus was so careless as to not come to challenge an intruder --  
Gold Saint or no --  
than Milo would hunt him down in his own bed.

Mouth set in a killer's smile, the Saint of Scorpions prowled, unchallenged and unacknowledged, into the House of the Water-Bearer; and, though still no challenge rang out, he was struck between heartbeats by a veritable wall of icy cold.

_So it is going to be like this, is it?_

Darkly amused, Milo paced the length of the moon-dark temple and casually raked a hand, talons half bared, along one thickly-frosted pillar, leaving bloody venom in his wake.

He was not feeling impressed by his reception.   
What Gold Saint left such a challenge unanswered?

As the heart-biting chill intensified, Milo bared his teeth and ignited his own power, a  
darkling heart's-fire against the pale frost. He passed the last of the slender snowy pillars, the hoarfrost-fragile gossamer of the draperies --

\-- and the hollow pealing sound of clattering starforged metal suddenly resounded through his head.

Milo froze in place for the briefest moment, eyes flickering crimson, hands twitching.

Nothing. Nothing but silence, and the frost.

He glanced downward, slowly, inclining his head; and his gaze fell on a glitter of frozen gold. 

Aquarius; or, rather, a fraction of it. A gauntlet, so heavily enrimed with frost it had been eaten through, white and deadly, by streaks of ice. Milo stooped swiftly to pick up the bit of armor, and hissed in offended anger at the bitter, bitter cold.

Further fragments of the Water-Bearer's Cloth --  
as if pulled roughly asunder at the joints --  
were littered down the narrow winding passage and its pale stone stairwell into Camus' personal chambers. 

Other than the icy bits of glittering gold and the frozen winds of mist, there was no acknowledgement still -- and Milo had had enough of the game.  
Without another thought he plunged he plunged down the frost-lined stairs, his eyes a reddened haze.

-*-

_~ Aquarius! ~_

Milo skidded to a halt in the centre of the bitter ice-white chamber, flesh prickling with the cold. 

He was not feeling at all charitable.

All around him lay the carnage of a winter's storm. The ancient furniture had been flung against the pale stone walls and shattered into frozen splinters; the heavy frosted draperies were shredded to ribbons, drifting helplessly on the hellfrost winds.

All around him lay shards of shattered glass, twisted silver frames and fragments of ice and frozen marble; and the heavy snowy mists, life-sapping, soul-draining, of Camus' unleashed cosmo.

And the only response to his dark call was a distinct and dreadful wave of frozen outrage tinged with grief, delivered to the Scorpion's spirit with all the subtlety of a knife of ice.

That was enough.

The Saint of Scorpions stalked through the shredded ice-stiff remnants of the draperies and once-soft, soothing furnishings and into the Water-Bearer's sleeping-chamber, blood hot and his anger churning scarlet-streaked fire around him.

-*-

" ... Get out."

The hoarse bark brought a smirk to Milo's shadowed features as he took in the scene arrayed before him.

Camus' bedchamber had fared even worse -- though the gleaming bedframe still stood, cracked and rimed with frost -- and in here the roiling ice-white mists were enough to kill a lesser creature.

The chamber entire was a kaleidoscope of shattered ice and shards of glass, ice-white silks and drops of sweet red blood; and in the middle of it all was the sundered and frost-pocked cuirass of Aquarius, half-frozen to the flagstones of the floor.

Standing over it, hair clotted with blood and ice, was the Water-Bearer; white flesh barely concealed by the remains of a shredded tunic, crimson hair clinging to slick scarlet blood welling from ice-inflicted pain --

And he stood trembling with fury, as ruby eyes locked onto the predatory Scorpion.

"I said _leave_."

"The Holy Father is displeased with you, Camus."

Milo's voice was a soft dark purr as he paced closer.

"There is no excuse enough for your absence ... "

"Excuse?" 

Camus' lean body tensed, and the mist glittered with icy shards. 

" _Excuse?_

"I need no _excuse_ , Milo!"

The Water-Bearer's delicate features froze into an icy mask, eyes glittering; but any further words were bitten off abruptly as Milo lunged towards him, two gleaming points of scarlet light racing ahead. Camus gasped as the toxic needles hit; and then Milo was upon him to bring him down.

He drew a ragged breath, and twisted in the lethal grip --

_~ Get your hands **off** of me, Scorpion ~_

\-- and a fist hardened glacier-cold smashed across Milo's cheek.

Snarling and taken off-balance, Milo released his grip, his head snapped back with the force of the blow; he whipped back around in a breath to face his defiant prey, eyes a bloody crimson and expression twisting in a feral snarl, teeth grown long and lethal.

Camus writhed to his feet, blood brilliant crimson against pale flesh, freezing in a fine spray of ruby droplets as it fell to the icy flagstones.

Hissing, Milo raced again at him; and Camus stood his ground, meeting the barrage of scarlet venom with a storm of frozen death. Dark linen came away in hair-fine shreds, and dusky skin bleached, striped white with iceburn --

But the Scorpion's blood-gold aura deflected much, as he’d expected just such a thing; and Camus was wrestled down again, with sharp teeth buried in the hollow of his pale throat.

The Water-Bearer's hands twisted into claws as he choked on a gasp of pain, drove blade after blade of focused frozen agony into the Scorpion's spirit that seemed to find no purchase in Milo's darkened soul. Ice-white tore at bloodied gold, leaving frozen welts behind it; and glacier-hardened flesh began to splinter and bleed under toxic claws.

Milo hissed again, deep in his throat, and released his hold; tossed Camus as a cat does a mouse, to skid across the debris-riddled floor. 

The Water-Bearer came sprawled to a halt alongside a shattered lamp of intricately-pieced glass, and spit a spray of blood that froze as it left his lips.

_~ What are you waiting for, Milo? ~_

_~ Come and take me, bleed me, kill me. ~_

He climbed, shuddering, to his feet, the shivering mists congealing into a forest of diamond-shining, lethal motes.

_~ Come and end it! ~_

His eyes burned cold, though his breath was labored and the thin slip of a tunic clung translucent and torn to his bloodied body.

_~ I. Don't. Care. ~_

_~He is gone, Milo -- ~_

The Saint of Scorpions saw the flicker of movement, flowed out of each as the barrage of deadly boreal light and frost flew swift towards him, twisted like a cat, and caught the Water-Bearer again, strong clawed hand locked around the slender throat, deadly talon stroking the sharp-boned jaw.

Camus gazed back at him with mad, grieving eyes, strangely still, and lifted his head as much as he were able; as if in defiance, or a challenge for the Scorpion to finish tearing out his throat.

_~ He is **gone**. ~_

_~ I am not afraid of you, Scorpion. ~_

_~ Nothing you can inflict can cause me pain. ~_

For a long, bitter moment there was nothing but the sound of freezing mist sliding along torn stained silks, the tinkling of glass, the soft ping of frozen blood-jewels striking the marble under their feet.

Milo smiled a slow, dark smile; pulled Camus' face to his, and licked frozen blood and tears from the ice-pale cheek. Then he purred words of paralyzing power, and flung the Water-Bearer onto the twisted bed, the tangled pale coverlets.

Camus drew ragged breath to speak, and Milo bared his fangs to silence him.

_~ Stronger than you know, you are. ~_

_~ Go back to your frozen northland. ~_

And the Saint of Scorpions turned and stalked towards the stairway above, looking as if he had just whisked away a dark and bloody secret.

Camus watched him go; and then his frozen gaze traveled over the icy destruction to rest on his dismembered golden armor.

For a long time, he was silent.

-*-

A touch of frost still glittered in Milo's dark hair as he knelt at the Holy father's feet, kissed his hand with a bloodied mouth.

The Holy Father laughed softly.

"I see you found him."

Milo nodded once, licking his lips and still tasting the cold bitterness.

"He knows, then?  
"You have done well.  
"Go, Milo."

The Scorpion bowed his head, and rose to his feet.

"Yes, my Lord."

And he slipped back into the darkness again, as the Holy Father's attention turned to other matters.


End file.
